


The Tomb

by junichiblue



Category: Bleach
Genre: Bad guys, Dark Forces, Grimichi - Freeform, GrimmIchi - Freeform, Kissing, M/M, Mysteries, Nightmares, Obsession, Possession, Sex, Supernatural - Freeform, Trapped, Underground, archeology, tombs, tunnels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26922226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junichiblue/pseuds/junichiblue
Summary: It's an amazing find. And a puzzle he can't decipher. Grimmjow has been working his way into the tomb his father uncovered in a small desert town just a few years ago.He was making progress, too. Then he opened a door. And the nightmares started.Despite sleepless nights and a growing exhaustion, Grimmjow invites a colleague, who may be able to help him explore the mystery. That is, if he's even willing to talk about it.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 40
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's an amazing find. And a puzzle he can't decipher. Grimmjow has been working his way into the tomb his father uncovered in a small desert town just a few years ago.  
> He was making progress, too. Then he opened a door. And the nightmares started.  
> Despite sleepless nights and a growing exhaustion, Grimmjow invites a colleague, who may be able to help him explore the mystery. That is, if he's even willing to talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was actually a dream I had many years ago. I was into RGB at the time. But it works splendidly now with Grimmjow and Ichigo. Being a dream, it was fragmented, so I will have to fill in a few details. But it's a hurt comfort at its heart, and that's what drives me. I want to watch it as a movie, but I certainly won't write it that well. I'm just going to throw down whatever words come out, and try not to overthink this one. That's the intent. And hopefully, keep it under 10 chapters. Wish me luck.

Grimmjow signed out of his email, closed his laptop, and exhaled out all the pressures of the day.

It had been a hot one. The air had been so still, the dust that kicked up fell right back down and landed on the heel of your boots. And then everywhere else.

Despite his growing fatigue, he was really looking forward to meeting his colleague in a couple of weeks.

From what he'd read and experienced, Ichigo Kurosaki was a bright, young Egyptologist, among other things. With a strong interest in anthropology. Because what good was there in digging up the dead and the remains of their civilization, without getting to know them.

From their text messages over the past month, he'd learned that Ichigo was also insightful, playful, and available.

Yes, the conversation had strayed from the topic of archaeology a few times and edged into more personal territory. And yes, Grimmjow was surprised by how quickly he'd grown so fond of a colleague he'd never actually met in person. But part of it might have been the photos he'd found of Ichigo on the internet. Ichigo was striking. Just, shirt half ripped open. Tall. Fit. With a shock of absolutely pillaged looking spiky orange hair. And behind his pleasant smile-for-the-camera smile, there was a guy who didn't take anybody's shit.

Grimmjow himself was an archaeologist through and through. A digger of things. A tunneller. A grave robber. His interest was in exploring the unknown, the long dead, and in being the first.

Tight spaces. Rigged traps. He ate up the adrenaline, and he loved the risk. Facing the challenge of dangerous digs. Finding all things buried in time. Holding long lost treasures in his own bare hands.

If asked, and he had been once or twice, which part of his work he loved the most, he didn't think he could compare them. But there was something about being the first to know. To be the first to be there.

To be the reason the world knew.

Maybe that was the reason he felt so drawn to return each day to the dig. Compelled to reveal another new section of the growing labyrinth hidden deep within the mountains. Despite the dreams.

_To be the reason the world knew._

That was a sentiment he would soon take back.

X X X

It felt like his skin had been infused with dirt. The tomb scrubbed marrow deep into him.

It took nearly the whole hot water tank to shower off the sand, mud, rock dust, and the blood from where he'd scraped himself against jutting stone, all of which had accumulated on his skin throughout the day.

It was one for the books, and it hadn't been without its lack of charms. Hell, before his day was done, he'd even managed to walk right into a fresh, massive and soul destroying spider's web.

By himself. In the dark.

That, alone, had been a nightmare to get out of his mouth and hair. And lord knew what happened to the spider.

But it had been worth it. It was another day of firsts. The first to see and record a space unseen by men for thousands of years.

He'd opened another door. Explored another interesting corridor. And extended his growing map.

Not long now, and he was sure he'd find the centre of the site.

And the entire scientific and archaeological world would shit its shorts.

Warm and a little fuzzy from the marathon shower, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez lost his damp towel over the tall, rounded bedpost and dropped like a rock onto his back. His arms fell out to his sides like heavy, lead weights, and his head felt like a boulder.

Seven straight hours underground, and he was done and then some. Which was good. Because he was going to try sleeping without a drink tonight. Sometimes, if he was tired enough, really physically spent, he'd have normal dreams, and normal nightmares.

Not the psychotic shit that'd been ripping him awake in the middle of the night for the past three months.

Since he'd opened that door.

He'd thought it couldn't get any worse, but he'd been a mess for the past two weeks. Sleepless nights were piling up on top of sleepless nights Even with the drinks. He needed more to keep himself down. Yeah, that was becoming a problem. He was spending at least part of his evenings sitting at the bar, instead of going over his finds. Grimmjow had never needed to be around people. But he was clinging to the company of the bartender and whatever town's people straggled in. Hell, he was pretty sure the place was still open because of him.

Grimmjow had never pretended to be more than he was. He was effectively the town's mayor, but politics didn't interest him. Fortunately, some residents who had formed a small committee did most of the thinking. Though there wasn't much to think about. The town was functional. The people independent and capable. When things needed fixing, they got fixed.

And so it wasn't getting in anyone's craw that their town mayor could often be found passed out at the bar midway through the evening.

They seemed to assume that he was a little depressed that tourism had slowed down. They knew he'd been having some nightmares. But he worked himself hard at his hobby in the mountains. Stress could do funny things to people.  
So they smiled, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder when they saw him.

And Grimmjow. He wasn't talking.

X X X

Grimmjow jolted awake, bolting out of a twisting, shadowy hell and back into silence and moonlit darkness.

And a bedroom that was still and empty. Not filled with the hissing creatures and writhing mass of tendrilous shadows that had been catching up and overtaking him as he rounded corner after corner in a blind panic, body following the dancing white spot of his headlamp, deep inside the endless black maze of subterranean tunnels.

His pupils were blown nearly as wide as his eyes in the dark, his heart still rushing like rapids beneath his chest, his breathing resisting coming down from a marathon sprint.

Eventually, he could control his breathing again. But it was a long frozen moment before he could will himself to even move, senses caught on high alert and every fibre searching for the slightest sound, the smallest movement. Any shadow that looked like it didn't belong. Any thing that could be waiting to pounce on him from out of the darkness.

He hated feeling like this. It wasn't him.

And that was what probably bothered him the most. That it wasn't him.

Grimmjow cautiously slid his hand across his chest, over to his forearm, and gathered up as much skin as he could between his fingers. Then he pinched hard.

It hurt. Which was good.

It meant he was awake. And there were no monsters in the real world.

He took a real breath of real air.

The only monster in his bedroom was his laundry hamper.

Breathing out, he dragged himself up to sitting, trying not to actually notice that his clock said 3am again, and shuffled himself out of bed. The coolness of the wood floor against the bottoms of his feet was welcome. Anything to link him to the realness of the world was welcome.

The moonlight that bled through sheer curtains and the glow of the bathroom from the hallway gave him enough light to avoid stubbing his toe on a stack of books at the end of his bed that he'd meant to put away yesterday. He was normally a clean person, but he'd been too tired to care last night. In fact, if he was honest about it, he hadn't really been a clean person for the past few months. There was shit all over the place these days; clothes, papers, maps, all of it calling home wherever it had been deposited.

Grimmjow stretched out a crick in his back, and took in the solid patch of light from the hall.

He didn't remember leaving the light on, but he easily could have.

He'd gone to bed dog tired from the day's dig.

Being exhausted, though, hadn't been enough to keep the nightmare scenarios away this time.

He moved silently down the hall towards the darkness of the kitchen. Enough light bled from the hall and from the moon outside, that he didn't bother to throw the light on. It was better to stay in the dark anyway, so he could fall back asleep faster.

But first, he'd fix his sleeping situation with a shot of hard liquor.

He turned left and padded over to the fridge, seeing only darkness and stars outside the window above the counter top to its right. The window was cracked, and the chirp of crickets in the brush was rhythmic and soothing. Part of the reason he loved it out here. To think he'd ever been a city dweller. There was nothing like putting your boots up next to a campfire after sunset and listening to the snap and crackle of a wood fire with a warm body curled up next to you.

He couldn't say he didn't enjoy a good fire almost every night. But he could say it'd been a few years since he'd had the luxury of a warm body.

His work didn't really allow much time for that these days. Much of his days were spent in the tombs. Evenings were dedicated to going over maps and studying hieroglyphs, and reading everything he could get his hands on about archaeology, either in paper form or through the net. After four years in school and a lot of field work, he was educated, but there were always questions, and sometimes, if you fell into a patch of luck, there was someone out there with an answer.

He opened the fridge and reached for the half full twenty-sixer of rye as bright white light flooded over him and lit one side of the kitchen. Forgetting about keeping his eyes adjusted to the dark, long shadow casting across the linoleum floor at his back, he stood in the white waterfall of cool air and threw back a shot's worth of alcohol in three quick gulps. Much more business than pleasure.

He breathed out the burn. He'd head back to bed in a minute. And if he was lucky, he'd catch a couple more hours before sunrise. And then it'd be another long day.

One might not do it. Maybe he'd just take the bottle with him.

Grimmjow closed the refrigerator door. The light went out with it.

That's when he saw it. Standing beside him.

His head snapped to his right and down. And his lungs quit.

There was a fucking girl behind the refrigerator door.

The bottle smashed to the floor. Cutting glass and cold liquid spreading out at his feet.

Through the tilt of black, stringy, greasy hair, its wide, unholy eyes bore into him. Her fixed pupils were tight pinpoints. Wrong for a dead thing. Nothing there but empty hollow holes. Holes that pulled him down.

 _Down_.

Eyes clouded, grey and dead. Fixed upwards onto his. Attached. Hungry.

And then her mouth opened.

Grimmjow couldn't breath.

Her mouth.

Her mouth... was stretching, and stretching... impossibly wide. Inhuman.

Wild eyed, unable to look away, Grimmjow couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't run.

Couldn't...

Her neck bent. _Crunched_. Her head tilting _too far_.

Eyes horribly wide, she screamed. A twisted mouth. A thousand discordant voices. High pitched and painful. She screamed until something snapped.

Grimmjow did too.

He bolted upright. Lunging back into darkness.

His desperate yell died on a strangled wheeze. Eyes wide and heart pounding, he clutched at his chest with clawed fingers. Digging in hard. He was damp with sweat.

Whipping off the single sheet, he scrambled like he was thrown onto hot coals for the lamp at his bedside.

Smashing the light on, the room lit up. And he shot upright again, his ass and bare back slamming against the headboard with a cold thud. Panting hard, and facing the room. Scanning for danger. Body braced and stiff on shaking arms.

Still seeing clearly that twisted morbid face.

Unsure if he was still asleep.

“Fuck!!!”


	2. Chapter 2

Grimmjow's father was a philanthropist, a philosopher, and a study of fine arts and archaeology, more interested in the old and moldy than he was in wealth and women. And though he hadn't particularly taken much care of his finances in his golden years, he was, to his last days, independently wealthy. And happy.

And that's what Grimmjow had always cared about. What his father had done with his money had been his choice.  
  
Grimmjow thought it was an odd choice, but he harbored no particular grudges towards his father's decisions.

He'd left the remainder of his wealth of course, to his number one son. His only son.

And Grimmjow _was_ his father's son. A chip off the old archaeologist's block.

His father had been excitable, focused, fearless, passionate, a bit loud sometimes, and to some, including Grimmjow, for reasons that were, well, reasonable, a bit of a kook. After growing up happily right beside his father as they barreled headlong into unstable and dangerous tunnels and dug into bug infested tombs, Grimmjow still managed to wonder about some of his father's final decisions.

Namely using the last of his money to purchase a tiny, dilapidated, mid-western desert town.

And then leaving it to Grimmjow.

Yeah, that had thrown Grimmjow for a bit of a loop.  
  
It had originally been an old frontier town. Now, under endless blue skies and a scruffy dessert, a short row of tidy store fronts lined either side of the wide dirt road, all the buildings renovated by the senior Jeagerjaquez and brought back to life over a couple of years.  
  
His vision for it had been simple. He'd refurbished the tiny town centre and turned it into a ranch.  
  
An hour from anywhere, it had a small general store, a saloon and restaurant, and a few rooms in a bed and breakfast.  
  
Light tourism brought in a small flow of cash. About fifty people chose to live out here. Long time residents who loved the isolation, many of them off the grid. The town, nestled down beneath the sharp rise of a colourful mountain chain, brought active tourists out year round to enjoy its hiking and spectacular views. Enough to keep the town's economy chugging along. For the most part.  
  
Tourism, and with it, the town, had dried up a bit lately.  
  
A little extra cash flow would be a welcome relief. And Grimmjow was waiting on his. With hope and a lotta skepticism of course. His daddy hadn't raised no archaeological fool.

**X X X**

Ichigo Kurosaki stepped inside the building marked Saloon and took in the town's ample watering hole and restaurant.  
  
The place was nearly deserted. Much like the tiny town itself.  
  
Except for one shadowed soul, and a strangely busy bartender, the bar was empty. The few tables were empty too. Grimmjow hadn't been kidding when he'd said things had slowed down. Ichigo walked over to the long bar, and sat his suitcase down on an empty stool.  
  
“I'm looking for Grimmjow,” he announced to the back of the bartender. In a place this small, did he even need to say it? No. But he wanted to. For the mouth-feel. “Jaegerjaquez.”

The bartender turned around, flipping a terry cloth dishtowel over his shoulder and giving him a friendly smile as he hustled some empties from the counter-top. He nodded sideways.  
  
“That'll be sleeping beauty at the end of the bar over there.”

Ichigo's eyes followed the highly polished wood bar until they came to rest on what looked like a crumpled human being. But what Ichigo knew to effectively be the town's mayor and an avid treasure hunter.  
  
It was certainly a strange circumstance that Grimmjow had found himself in. From what Ichigo had gleaned through their conversations, he had taken to his new home. But he wondered now.  
  
At just past six pm, Ichigo was about fourteen hours early. His flight plans had been changed last minute, and though he'd sent several texts, he hadn't received a response. Now he might know why.  
  
The head of shadowed blue hair was angled away, burrowed deeply inside the nest of his arms. Was that snoring? Ichigo couldn't tell if the guy was asleep, passed out, or if he'd just given up on life entirely. He could even be crying.  
  
Ichigo hesitated.  
  
“What's wrong with him?”  
  
The bartender glanced at Ichigo, the rotation of his polishing hand faltering before speeding up again.

“...Insomnia.” The moment of hesitation in the bartender's response was so slight, Ichigo could have almost brushed it off. But no. Clearly, that wasn't the whole story. Maybe wasn't even the story at all. But he hadn't come all the way out here to dig up the guy's personal issues, he reminded himself. He came to make good on a proposal. And make them both some money.

And yes, for the adventure. And yes, maybe Grimmjow was part of that adventure. And okay, yes, maybe out of a growing curiosity and desire to meet a colleague he'd exchanged a few intriguing emails with.  
  
He'd never even seen a decent picture of the guy that was recent. He'd looked once or twice, quickly. But except for an old black and white newspaper article that had featured his good looking if not pixelated teenage self and his father, apparently Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez didn't care much for social media, or having his picture taken.

That was something that might change soon, whether Grimmjow wanted it to or not, given that word was starting to spread on his unusual find. It had been something the guy had been trying to keep relatively quiet. Ichigo had respected his request when he'd reached out with questions that were right down Ichigo's alley. But it was clear that others hadn't.  
  
Whether it was someone else in the field that Grimmjow had confided in, or one of the local residents who'd spilled some beans, wasn't for Ichigo to know.  
  
And really, it added to the mystery. Which made it even more enticing. Everything about this _find_ felt mysterious. On first contact, it had immediately occurred to Ichigo that some of Grimmjow's questions were a bit... strange, given the location of the dig he'd uncovered. Grimmjow had wanted to know the meaning of a few rare symbols. Ichigo had known them as if they were his native tongue, of course. But why Grimmjow would ask about symbols that had only ever been found on entirely different continents, halfway across the world, and from and entirely different cultures, had become a burning question of his own.

He walked down the bar towards the sleeping body, clearing his throat as he approached. The archaeologist appeared to be so down and out that Ichigo didn't want to...  
  
“Yo, Grimmjow!” The bartender's booming voice was helpfully loud enough to wake the entire town.

Ichigo jumped a little.  
  
But Grimmjow startled to life with such a sudden upright jerk and piercing shriek of stool legs against wood floor, that it startled even Ichigo. The bluenet twisted around sharply in his seat to find his attacker, a cornered mess of disoriented, slightly bloodshot and sleep deprived blue eyes that shot towards Ichigo. His eyes said that Grimmjow was a mess, but Ichigo would be damned if they weren't laser focused on him in an instant.

The guy looked scared, confused, and immensely pissed off at the same time, a bit like he was coming out of a nightmare and couldn't quite figure out if he was still in it.  
  
Ichigo raised an eyebrow and fought the instinct to take a protective step back. Man, but this guy's fight or flight response was amped. Like he thought the world was out to get him. Or something was.

And that would forever be his first memory of Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

But it would always pale next to his second memory.  
  
Electric blue eyes, just as sharply intelligent as the danger they promised, Grimmjow had eyes that you walked away from at your own peril.  
  
And for a moment, Ichigo felt his compulsions kick in. To be the first to explore. The first to discover. The first to lay claim.  
  
He felt a warning flutter of distress. Because he didn't tend to notice people. He'd been accused of being distant and distracted more times that he could count. But here was, thinking that unless there was something fundamentally wrong with his colleague, he couldn't imagine who wouldn't want to lay claim to that. Ichigo would not be the first, but would there be a long line of baggage for him to compete with? Ichigo had to shake himself out of it. Not feeling like himself and not liking it one bit. He wondered if jet-lag was affecting him, or perhaps the dessert heat. But he was used to both.

**  
XXX  
**

It took Grimmjow an unusually long moment to gain his bearings. Either he'd slept a helluva lot longer than he thought, or Ichigo was a day early.  
  
“Ichigo?” he rasped brokenly, testing his voice on Ichigo's name. He coughed as he slid off the stool and rubbed his hands down his khakis before swiping combative bangs away from his forehead. **  
  
**Ichigo watched Grimmjow right himself, trying to rid himself of looking flustered and sleep groggy. Feeling his composure slip, Ichigo held his breath as wide blue eyes took in everything in one sweep, climbing all the way down from Ichigo's feet, right up to his hair. Grimmjow had such a look of confusion and wonderment that Ichigo might have felt uncomfortable, had he not been doing the exact same thing.  
  
It felt like one of those moments in life where you came across an artifact of such rarity and value that, for a moment, you didn't even know how to process it.  
  
Like a dropped Greek funerary vase, the spell was broken when Grimmjow looked right past Ichigo and growled at the barkeep.  
  
“Fuck. Mac? How long was I _asleep_?” he barked, his voice breaking like an angry teenager's.  
  
“Two days. Maybe three,” came the distant, bland reply.  
  
“For fuck- Asshole,” Grimmjow muttered.  
  
“It's 6:30 pm. I'm a day early. My flight got changed. I texted you,” Ichigo supplied. Simply. Surprised he'd been able to find words, let alone make sense. He watched as Grimmjow caught up with his version of current events.  
  
Ichigo's mind was slightly occupied. Grimmjow was gorgeous. Even with the shadows under brilliant blue eyes and his hair a little flattened and spiky on one side. He had nearly two inches on Ichigo and about 30 more pounds. He was in wicked shape. Ichigo could see right through his shirt, in his minds eye, just how beautifully constructed the young archaeologist was. He had vivid sky-blue hair that reached out like a spiky canopy over his forehead. And sharp scowl lines between tapered, diving eyebrows that somehow looked more like long-term thoughtful and resting-bitch-face than constant anger or belligerence.  
  
Though Ichigo could be wrong about that. It was a close call.  
  
As if proof of Ichigo's good judge of character, Grimmjow reached out with a welcoming glint of warmth in azure eyes and enthusiasm pulling on a hint of a crooked smile. Ichigo took his hand. And instantly felt like he was shaking hands with fire, embers racing their way unapologetically up his arm and warming his veins.  
  
Like their grip was cemented, Grimmjow didn't seem like he was able to let go either. **  
  
**Ichigo wished now that he had _creeped_ the guy a bit more, found a better photo. Just to be prepared.  
  
He might have felt embarrassed, but he was in good company. They didn't need to ask each other that very personal question. Orientations that were really nobody else's damn business. They looked at each other. And it was the _way_... they looked at each other.  
  
But through all their scientific correspondence and general exchanges Ichigo had never asked. And Grimmjow had never mentioned if he was single. And Ichigo was thrown for a loop by how much he suddenly wanted to _know_.  
  
Did it even _matter_? Now _there_ was a question. And it was a question his sense of self wasn't willing to acknowledge so suddenly. That wasn't the kind of guy Ichigo was. But damn. He didn't know if he _could_ say no, not if Grimmjow's personality was anything like his body. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself. Tripping over his own dick.  
  
He was just glad Grimmjow couldn't see inside his head.  
  
Damn. They hadn't even set foot in a tomb yet, and this trip was already turning out to be dangerous.  
  
When they did pull away it was rather quickly; jerking back, with shuffled feet, a clearing of Grimmjow's throat, and a straightening of Ichigo's shoulders.  
  
“Well, shit,” Grimmjow offered by way of formal greeting, shoving his hands safely in his pockets. “It's good to meet you, Kurosaki. How was yer trip?”  
  
“Uneventful. Good though.” Ichigo nodded. He travelled a lot, so it really was nothing new to talk about. Grimmjow acknowledged with a small nod too.  
  
“Did you check in at the B&B yet?”  
  
“No. Actually. The sign said they stepped out.” Grimmjow didn't look surprised. “So, I figured I'd check your town out and see if you were around.”  
  
“Well, don't bother checkin' in,” Grimmjow pulled a hand out of his pocket and waved him off. “You can stay with me.”  
  
“I don't want to impose on you,” Ichigo responded purely out of polite social convention. Truth be told, he really didn't mind the idea.

“Impose? Fuck. You're my guest.” Grimmjow frowned, not hiding his disgust. “In fact, right now, you're the town's only guest.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concrete feedback is much appreciated. Please feed a hungry author. 🌭🌭

Ichigo left his rented car on the main road at Grimmjow's insistence. Not like anyone would steal it, he'd said.  
  
But not before Grimmjow's semi-Freudian slip had Ichigo rubbing a pretend itch with the back of his hand and covering a flattered smirk.  
  
“You got any baggage... er... fuck... luggage?” There was a dusting of rouge on sharply boned cheeks for a moment, and Ichigo felt himself preen at the slip up. Grimmjow had it just as bad as Ichigo.  
  
So, they piled into Grimmjow's Jeep Wrangler Rubicon. Ichigo liked it. It was bronze grey, four doors, with a hard top. Open air jeeps were nice, but with the dessert sun and dust, this was much more practical to keep your equipment clean and sand out of your eyes.  
  
Grimmjow had a small ranch, less than a minute's drive from the edge of the town's tiny strip. Away from the _high-life_ of a single bed and breakfast and one _for-show_ saloon.  
  
It was seriously close by. Ichigo watched the small town _not_ disappear in the distance at all and wondered idly why Grimmjow didn't just walk. The houses surrounding the town were dispersed far and wide across acres of dessert. Little sandy paradises for those who loved vast, people-less spaces. Grimmjow's was one of the closest to town.  
  
They pulled up a long, gravely driveway. Aside from a few destabilizing potholes, the dry crumble of small pebbles under the jeep's sturdy tires were almost soothing Ichigo into a half-lidded lull as the vehicle rolled to a stop. The short metallic wrench of the e-brake jolted him back. And then some. It had been a long day of travelling, but he still had some fuel left.  
  
“Home sweet ranch,” Grimmjow announced with a sideways glance to Ichigo before sliding out of the jeep and heading around the back to open the hatch where his gear and Ichigo's baggage, er... luggage was stored. Ichigo stepped out of the vehicle, stretched for good measure, and took everything in in one slow, neck-turning sweep.  
  
Grimmjow's place was _nice_. It was a sort of rustic looking ranch style home. Without the actual ranch. Clean and tidy, it looked like an original building that had been given a very light and loving touch. Single level. All wood with a large, newer, side addition. Lots of windows. And a sturdy looking veranda that ran most of the length along the front.

It was a good amount of space for one person. Despite what Ichigo knew, it _looked_ like Grimmjow wasn't hurting.

“This was my father's house for a bit.” Grimmjow turned to Ichigo as they starting up the short path to the house, keys jingling in his hand. With what he kept in his house, even out here, he kept it locked. “He did a nice job of fixin' it up. Managed to keep everything feeling fresh but rustic, inside and out.”  
  
“It looks really comfortable,” Ichigo said honestly.  
  
“You got a house?” Grimmjow asked, making conversation that wasn't very deeply thought out as they walked.  
  
“I rent,” Ichigo replied, taking the duffle bag Grimmjow handed him in the hand that wasn't already carrying his suitcase.  
  
“Travel a lot, eh?” he said knowingly.  
  
“Yeah. I love all the areas I visit, but I haven't found a place I want to settle in yet.”  
  
“I get that. Didn't mean to settle here, but it just happened.”

“Yeah. How do you like it?”  
  
“Can't say I had any interest in living in the middle of nowhere. Kind of surprised myself.” He smiled, and for a moment it was brilliant. “People are really great. Honest. Hard working. No real loons in the group. And when the tourists are coming through, it's active enough. You meet all kinds of people. Plus a lot of 'em are young and hot, so I ain't exactly trapped living a life of celibacy.”  
  
Ichigo smirked, packing his simile with derision that Grimmjow ignored with ease.  
  
“Like hens to the slaughter.”  
  
Grimmjow just flashed a perfect set of unusually sharp teeth.  
  
“An' roosters.”  
  
Ichigo decided immediately that he _didn't_ feel his cheeks warm with a rush of interest. It was just the dessert heat.  
  
Having _clearly_ shaken off the bulk of his impromptu bar nap, Grimmjow had warmed quickly. After unlocking the door, he introduced Ichigo to his home with random arm flourishes, pointing in one direction then another and announcing the space. Ichigo learned the den, the kitchen, his room, Grimmjow's room - _thank you very much_ \- and the bathroom all in his mind's eye and with loose hand-coordinates.  
  
Having shown off his home without actually moving though it, Grimmjow seemed most excited to show Ichigo some of the items he'd brought home from the dig so far. So, they got right to it.  
  
They settled in the dining section of the kitchen, Grimmjow's heavy duffle bag parked at the end of a long and knotted, oak, farmhouse table, its polish long worn away with use and age.

Ichigo placed his palms flat against the weathered, velvet smooth surface.  
  
They slipped deep into archaeology talk like a couple of old friends, an hour passing them by without notice. Conversation felt so easy. So natural.

“How long did you say you've been exploring the tunnels?” He hadn't said actually.  
  
“Mm... S'been about... two years.”  
  
Still looking at the paper on the table, Ichigo's eyes shot up.  
  
“Two years?” The map showed a series of many long hallways, and some small rooms, but for it to have taken two years to get just that far meant Grimmjow had painstakingly worked his way into the tombs by himself. Well, after his father had found it first. But that meant his father couldn't have gotten very far either. Why?  
  
Ichigo already knew Grimmjow was keeping the place off the map for now. So, it wasn't a big leap to think he'd been going it completely alone. A dumb idea. But not a big leap.  
  
“Yeah, well, unless I wanna use a stick of dynamite to open all the fucking doors in that place, it takes awhile.”  
  
Ichigo ignored the edgy sarcasm, taking it for what it was, the words of a very tired man.  
  
Instead, hands braced out on the table, he studied the map Grimmjow had so painstakingly created and laid out for him to inspect. It was not unexpected for tombs like the great pyramids to take up to ten years for entire teams of archaeologists to locate the final resting places of the great Pharaohs. But this dig was much smaller, so far. And based on Grimmjow's work, its halls seemed fairly linear and equally laid out. Equally patterned out on each side. He squinted in concentration at the delineating marks on the paper.  
  
“Doors?” Not open doorways?  
  
“Yeah, fuck,” Grimmjow blurted with a rush of frustration and reverence in frowning eyes as he leaned forward to stab a finger into the map. “The place has doors all over the fucking place, and you have to use the keystones to open each one. Fucking weirdest shit I've ever seen. That's why it's taking so long.”  
  
“That _is_ unusual. They must have really wanted to keep people out and the contents inside.”  
  
“Or something inside,” Grimmjow muttered vaguely. Ichigo didn't pay attention. He was too interested in the detailed map.  
  
“That _is_ a lot of doorways,” he concluded. He looked up. “Were any open? Or did you have to open _all_ of them by yourself?”

Grimmjow stood back, watching Ichigo and his map and ready to answer every question posed to him on the other side of the table. He was clearly happy to finally be able to discuss his life's work with someone capable of asking the right questions. And understanding his answers.  
  
“Yeah. They're all triggered. Just had to cipher the glyphs off the walls for each one...”  
  
He reached to the side, pulled a scroll of paper from his bag, then leaned forward and brushed open the second map. Rather, it was a list of ciphers and numbered doorways that matched the original map. The scroll type thing ran over the first map, and Ichigo had to lift his hands to accommodate it.  
  
“...Then find the latch and...”  
  
“No dynamite.”  
  
Grimmjow glanced up, eyes shining from a question to genuine warmth and a hint of pride. His lip took a sharp right, showing off an oddly dangerous looking fang as he snorted.  
  
“No dynamite.”

The sun had set by the time they finished talking about the maps and perusing through Grimmjow's small selection of artifacts. They hadn't touched on the hieroglyphs yet. The language or their meanings. And from the few details Grimmjow had given, the language too seemed mixed. And this was where Ichigo shined. That would be a conversation for tomorrow.  
  
Between artifacts, doorways and apparently a lack of traps, so far, they hadn't touched on the proposition that had yet to be properly discussed and decided on.  
  
Was allowing someone else to view the find for substantial compensation going to be worth the risk of revealing the general location of the tomb? They still had some time to talk it through and decide. Ichigo didn't have anywhere he needed to be for another month if it came to it. He'd even be happy to shuffle his commitments around if the dig turned out to be as interesting as it sounded, and if Grimmjow wanted his long term help.  
  
Or long term _anything_. But that was getting ahead of himself.  
  
For the most part, Ichigo really knew only a little more than he'd already known before he'd arrived. That the place had been a vault, and probably still was. That Grimmjow had found, and now shown him his proof, artifacts that seemed to come from many different cultures.  
  
There weren't a lot of artifacts to be found so far, he'd said. Strangely, he'd found only a few in each room, as if - he'd thought out loud - each small, empty room was designed simply to hold an important piece of another culture. Almost like walking through a very bare museum.  
  
_Or a trophy collection._  
  
The place had mystery written all over it. And Ichigo absolutely could not wait to see the find for himself tomorrow.  
  
After 19 straight hours of travelling, Ichigo might have wanted to turn in. But there was so much more to talk about.  
  
Just maybe not about work.  
  
“You want a beer? I'm havin' one. Got a fire pit out back.” Ichigo didn't really get to answer.  
  
Grimmjow was already shuffling about in the fridge, then heading straight past him and out the screen door with a stretched squeak of hinges, the bouncing slam of thin wood on wood, and the clink of two long beer necks in his hand. Leaving Ichigo to either stand in his kitchen alone or follow him outside.  
  
“I'll grab you a chair and a blanket. You'll love it out here.” His voice wafted back as Ichigo followed. Smooth, low, and enticing as hell.  
  
Ichigo had spent many nights under a blanket of stars, a way out in endless desserts and in the hidden clearings of deeply canopied jungles. Yet, in Grimmjow's company, this already felt like a completely new experience.  
  
And what a perfect evening it was to spend by the fire. Being in the dessert, the days could be hell hot and dry, but at night temperatures often dipped to a few degrees Celsius. Tonight was going to be pleasantly cool, with a slow breeze and clear skies. Perfect for throwing your boots up on a cut of wood, tossing a thin, rough blanket across your legs, and slouching back into your Adirondack chair till your shoulders touched your ears.

The firewood was already set, and Grimmjow was just lighting the last bit of kindling as Ichigo approached. Beyond the fire pit, at about fifty yards out, Grimmjow's back yard blended into the endless black wilds of the dessert. The single light from the kitchen stretched out down the long, gravel walkway and faded into the night, not quite catching fingers with the light of the fire.  
  
He called it a yard, but it was really more a really large patch of less brush, some sandy spots, and grass seed that Grimmjow had planted loosely around the centre and kept watered with rain barrels. Ichigo figured it must be nice to have a patch of something so green out here.

They sat beside each other, a chair space apart, away from the gentle lean of the smoke. Faces lit from beneath and shadows moving like living things beneath their eyes.

The air was filled with the chirr of singing Cicadas. The high pitched buzz grew and dimmed in random waves, as things in the night disturbed their song. Other than the occasional yip of a coyote or hoot of an owl, there were few other sounds from out there. No people. No highway. Not even a plane most of the time.  
  
Sometimes, it was kind of like the world had forgotten about this little pocket of land. And maybe it should. There were certainly things about the place that most of the locals wouldn't even acknowledge.

  
**X X X**

The beer sat nearly empty between Ichigo's legs, its base nestled between his thighs. The last drop was probably going to be too warm to enjoy, but he hadn't put it down yet.  
  
Grimmjow's was empty awhile ago, but he seemed quite happy to hold a mostly one sided conversation than to think of getting up for more.

“A few people have asked me,” Grimmjow continued, “why would I want to live way out here, in the middle of a hot sweaty fuckin' desert. You know? And so many people look out at it, and all they see is a desolate, empty landscape. With a few good hiking trails.”  
  
He snorted. Then held one palm out, looking through it, thumb and forefinger framing the fire. “I see life. Strength. A will to survive. No luxuries. You know?” He brought his hand down to his lap, gaze swinging to Ichigo. “No help. Just you and your moxie. And every bit of balls and brains and brass you got to get you through a day. You gotta respect that, you know?”

“Yeah.” Ichigo agreed quietly. Content to listen. To learn.  
  
“And sometimes, I think those folks who build all these temples, an' tombs, an' shit... they had some fuckin' metal. And yeah, I can admit, I get off on the adventure, but they didn't have a tenth of what we've got these days. They've earned their fuckin' place in time. And people should see it. So they can respect it.”  
  
“I agree.” Yup. Ichigo liked him.  
  
**X X X**

They sat a moment. The relative silence was relaxing. Neither felt the need to fill it with words. Grimmjow took a long quiet look at Ichigo, as the other tipped his head back and watched the occasional meteor cut a sharp white line into a short section of dark sky.

The milky way didn't compare to the fire light in Ichigo's eyes. The way it flickered, turning charred brown to liquid gold fire.

Like he already felt those eyes could be, the sky was a window to the heavens. From one horizon to the next. So thick, so littered with stars, the milky way above their heads looked like you could dive right in and swim forever.

The milky way was so... it didn't compare to the fire light, or the city lights, or all the man made crap that littered the naked earth. Ironic, that the heavens were so pure and untouched and revered, and yet, they spent their lives, their best years, breaking their backs to dig up artifacts, nothing more than old, left behind relics of human civilization.  
  
Archaeologists. Humans.  
  
Sometimes Grimmjow thought they were all crazy.  
  
Then the sun came up and the hunt was on.

After the moment of peaceful silence, Grimmjow excused himself and nipped inside to take a leak, showing at least some civility by not urinating in his own back yard. When he returned, it was with two more beers, walking behind Ichigo's chair and passing one over Ichigo's shoulder.  
  
Ichigo caught his breath as he did. The bold slide of a warm, strong forearm along the sensitive skin of Ichigo's collarbone as he did, sent a pleasant shiver right through him.

Smiling to himself, Grimmjow took his seat, and resumed his comfortable slouch after leaning forward to catch the blanket off the dirt and pull it back up over his legs. But not before he had reset his chair, snug right up next to Ichigo's.

It was going on well past nine. It was September, and the sun was nearly three hours down. Between his flight, car rental, and the two hour drive, Ichigo couldn't remember how long it'd been since he'd eaten. He hadn't noticed if he was hungry but...  
  
“You hungry?”

“Sure.” If Grimmjow was offering, he'd eat it, if only to stay out here longer. Ichigo wasn't in any mood to leave. He tilted his head up and drew the stars into his lungs. At least a billion and one. The universe filled with so many discoveries, so many possibilities. Just the way he liked it. He could have stayed in that private moment of reflection.  
  
But Grimmjow's suggestive rumble shattered the stars. **  
**  
“You like... _wieners_?”  
  
Ichigo blinked at the hilariously sexy voice drop, and panned slowly over to his host, only to run smack into an equally slow grin.  
  
Grimmjow raised his right arm from behind his chair, the soft plastic sound of shaken packaged hot dogs standing out briefly against the natural background hum of the nighttime desert.

“I really _really_ do,” Ichigo drawled out with as much seriousness as he could. He stared a speechless Grimmjow down with a small confident smirk, glancing from the sagging hot dog pouch in Grimmjow's limp hand and back to Grimmjow's blown out eyes. “What,” he lifted an eyebrow, being about as coy as he could be. “No foot longs?”

It was hard to tell, but it looked like Grimmjow's cheeks were lit by more than flame. And it took Grimmjow a long and satisfyingly inarticulate moment to recover. But recover, he did.  
  
“Heh. Not in _this_ hand,” he purred, leaving the rest of the thought for Ichigo to... fill out.

Ichigo had no comeback that wouldn't have him outright offering himself up to his suddenly hungry looking host. Grimmjow was staring him down with a kind of sinful admiration. And it was Ichigo who blinked first, blushing with a slight scowl. Damned that he'd lost so easily.

But he'd learned something. Grimmjow wasn't one to tip toe up to that conversation. That was good. Ichigo couldn't relate to people who beat around the bush. A real spark was hard to find and he didn't have a lot of time to spend on dating or relationships. His life revolved mainly around his work.

That was it. Ichigo sighed. Grimmjow was cute. And cut. Hot. Playful. Intelligent. Driven. And oh yeah... hot. Ichigo still had a feeling there was a temper underneath the scientist, but that made getting to know him even more enticing. Ichigo couldn't relate to boring.

Grimmjow muttered a curse about hot dog pokers, and retreated quickly back into the house so they could dine like kings on questionable food. If things took a turn the way he was starting to want them to, it'd be nice to have a little something in his stomach.  
  
He dragged the two long metal pokers along each other, holding them up in sword ringing triumph as he made his way back to the fire.  
  
Bending to grab the pack of dogs off the ground by his chair, Grimmjow stood and turned in time to enjoy the sight of Ichigo absently checking out his ass. And he really.. _really_ didn't mind.

He dropped himself down and flashed Ichigo a killer smile.  
  
“So, when did you decide ya liked me?” Grimmjow smirked. He saw Ichigo stumble a little, brown eyes looking at him, then through him at nothing as he blanked out trying processed his situation. He looked liked he'd stepped on a landmine, the lines of his body tensing, then relaxing as he realized there was no sense in denying it.  
  
“Jury's still out on that,” Ichigo lied back, the ghost of an upturn at the corner of his mouth. Teasing wasn't like him at all, but this Grimmjow J just made Ichigo feel unusually comfortable. And wanting something he hadn't wanted in a very long time. Sex and maybe more. “When did you?”  
  
Grimmjow's eyes narrowed marginally as he weighed Ichigo's answer with his own response. His tone was a sarcastic drawl, but openly playful.  
  
“Mmm... 'bout the time I asked for your input and you texted me back, _“SOS. Archaeologist pwned by dirty old rocks.” G_ rimmjow's rumbled calmness had Ichigo's full and growing attention. “Wasn't sure if I liked you or hated you,” he smirked. “But I knew I had to meet you.”

The ground between them shivered and shrunk, the desert background around them flying away into in space. Until Ichigo cleared his throat and nudged them into forward. He hadn't come here to be thrown into a sexual chemistry storm. He'd come here for business first. Sexual storms could wait until at least second...  
  
But maybe tonight they could... Dammit. No. Tombs first. And financing first. Everything else, second.  
  
Right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas. Warning/Spoiler: Sex ahead. I feel like this is one of my better sex scenes. : |  
> Not sure if I'll finish this work, but I wanted to at least get this chapter finished and out to you. In the name of Christmas and grimmichi. : D  
> All feedback is welcomed. Desired. Needed. Favorite bits. Things that stood out. Small suggestions to improve spots is great too. Cheers and hope you enjoy. Juni

Three naked and fire-blistered weiners-on-a-stick later, and they were both satisfied. It wasn't exactly fine cuisine, but it filled a void Ichigo hadn't paid much attention to. For the few short hours since he'd arrived, his mind had been occupied with so many things.

But now, while Ichigo was finishing precisely licking his fingertips clean, Grimmjow was going off about another void. One of a more monetary nature.

“Pfft. Money. It's always about the green.” Grimmjow's sharp blue eyes narrowed at the fire, the flames seeming to flicker and lean _away_ from their intensity as he physically _ground_ away the last of the hot dog grease from his mouth with the back of his fist. “Forget that.”  
  
They were discussing the intrinsic value of artifacts and society's need to define the value of ancient things by ascribing a currency. He wasn't in this lifestyle for the grandeur or money. It was in the finding of things. The chase. The catch. The display.

A lowered gaze that was almost threateningly playful swung to Ichigo, the low grind of his voice, enticing and... almost chilling, as Grimmjow _leaned_ into his own grin.  
  
“We got something much more special.”  
  
Something shuddered inside Ichigo, interest fully peaked, but his casual expression giving as little away as possible. He merely shifted a prompting eyebrow at the gaze. And at the growl. And at the vagabond lopsided grin Grimmjow was sprouting. _Triple threat._ Scratch that. With the way the orange of the firelight lit up those blue eyes and blue clawed bangs, make that a _quadruple threat.  
_  
It was a sight Ichigo wouldn't have minded looking at all night. But, all good things...  
  
Grimmjow's lazy drawl wound its way out from behind a wide, self-satisfied row of teeth.  
  
“There's _old_ in them _thar_ hills.”  
  
And with that... all of Ichigo's glossy expectations, the _sexy dream of the man_. shattered sideways, his growing desert sandcastle tumbled over by the boots of teenage immaturity. That was quite possibly the worst southern accent Ichigo had ever heard. Even though Grimmjow had admittedly summed up both of their mutual philosophies in one badly accented nutshell.  
  
No force of nature could hold Ichigo's smile back, or the revolted groan that came with it. With the least effort possible, he reached out and shoved aimlessly at Grimmjow's rock-like shoulder, even as his heart kicked at the brief contact. It seemed impossible, but Grimmjow knew how to light all of his fires at once, and in the subtlest and worst of ways.  
  
It was giving Ichigo an emotional boner.

Grinning, his host threw back the rest of his third beer cleanly - Ichigo had declined another - and checked his watch. He scowled darkly at it in a moment of thought.

“It's getting late,” he finally grunted, as if the idea left a bad taste in his mouth. In fact, his voice had sobered to something too flat, almost resigned. “Guess we should turn in.”  
  
_Bed. Right.  
  
_Ichigo had almost expected bold innuendo, or suggestive looks, but the sparkle of playfulness that had been in Grimmjow's eyes up to now was snuffed out suddenly by something else, a flash of something tense, buried quickly behind the forced curve of a thin smile.  
  
Ichigo may have spent heaps of time around old bones and dead things, but he could still tell when _people_ were haunted.  
  
“Guess we should,” Ichigo agreed while letting his head fall back, wrists sagging over the long wide arm of his wooden Adirondack chair, stretching his legs out into the sandy grass and digging his heels in. He stretched himself fully, then pulled himself back as upright as the chair would allow, inhaling and exhaling deeply as he stared into the fire.  
  
False start.

He didn't feel inclined to move. The peace was too nice. The company companionable. Grimmjow didn't move a limb either, perhaps for different reasons, eyes lost in the dance of the fire light.

“I'm usually up early,” he said after a moment, looking over at Ichigo in understanding. “But I'm sure you'll wanna sleep in.”

Ichigo hummed a vague agreement, and let his head flop against the back of the chair in Grimmjow's direction.  
  
“When yer up, we can catch some breakfast.” Grimmjow seemed to relax a bit, mind distracted again by logistics. “Then I can... give you a tour of the site.”  
  
That sounded good. But then, there it was again. This time, there was a distinct hardening in his expression and his tone, one that had Ichigo lifting his head to meet his dark gaze head on.  
  
“But you'll have to stick close to me. No wandering away.”  
  
Ichigo's ego twitched a little at that, and he levelled Grimmjow with a look. This wasn't his first rodeo. And he needed no babysitting. But... this _was_ Grimmjow's baby in the end.

“Yeah. I've been on a few digs,” he replied dryly, his chin dropping and the corner of his mouth tilting.

“No,” Grimmjow cut in all too sharply, forcing Ichigo's semi-smile back. Grimmjow caught himself on a grunt and continued with slightly less heat. Apologetic. **  
  
**“I mean, I know, but... This one's... It's different. There's something...” Grimmjow sighed angrily as he struggled to piece together what he wanted to say, finally twisting in his seat to face Ichigo as full on as he could, hands animated and gesturing as he explained.

“Look, I am probably about as nihilistic as they come, but lately...” He faltered, one knee starting to bounce. He took a deep, contemplative breath, hesitating again, before he sagged back into his chair as though his bones alone wouldn't keep him upright.  
  
“Never mind.”  
  
“What?” Ichigo urged quietly, not wanting to interrupt whatever Grimmjow was trying to process.  
  
He heard the quiet growl that rattled deep in Grimmjow's throat. The frustration of an internal struggle that Ichigo couldn't hear. After a moment, the bluenet tried again, talking towards the fire this time, more comfortable speaking aloud his nightmares to the elements than to a near stranger. Understandably.

“A few months ago... I opened a door down there.”  
  
When he didn't continue right away or look up, Ichigo frowned, hand twitching to reach out, then thinking twice.  
  
He noticed that the light breeze had stopped. And there was a sharp absence of sound. The crickets had gone silent.  
  
He also noticed that mostly, since they'd met, his host had been charismatic, intelligent and insightful.  
  
But right now, Grimmjow was a _big mood_.  
  
A big _disturbing_ mood.  
**  
** “Okay...” He said simply, a dozen questions buried inside that one word, but Ichigo being careful not to push him into shutting down. Just letting him know he was there.  
  
The weight of something substantial was hanging heavy in the cooling desert air, unnerving like the hushed silence of a stalking predator. And Ichigo wasn't one to ignore such things. But when long, empty seconds ticked by and Grimmjow said nothing, seemingly slipping away, losing himself in his own thoughts, Ichigo prompted with a little more force. Partly out of deepening curiosity. He needed to know. But also, Grimmjow clearly needed to get it out.

“What did you find?”

Grimmjow's eyes jolted to him, as if he'd just noticed his presence again. Like he'd been miles away from anywhere. Then they darted back to the safety of the flames, tight around the edges and unreadable.

“Another fuckin' door of course,” the bluenet snorted, lashing out at Ichigo with a heavy, recalcitrant sneer.  
  
But that short, _dark_ trace of humour that twisted his features, that for a second _hollowed_ his whole personality, it fled quickly. Grimmjow turned towards him again, an avoiding, unsettled azure gaze barely _glancing_ Ichigo, rushing past him to fix on a distant point somewhere beyond his shoulder.  
  
Half here. Half not.

After a moment of visibly searching for the words, and deciding that he could trust Ichigo with whatever was plaguing him, Grimmjow finally spoke. And when he did, his voice was back. He was back.  
  
“It's stupid, yeah? But ever since...” He hesitated, as if speaking his thoughts aloud would call up monsters. He took in a breath. Blew it out again in a resigned sigh. “When I'm near that doorway...”  
  
And then the _look_ Grimmjow swung him. Deeply haunted. Fucking _scared_. It was enough to send Ichigo's normally steel veins into a downward tumble towards the edge of a frozen precipice.  
  
“...I get a bad feeling.”

Ichigo would have said, _that was it?_ But it wasn't the words that got to him. It was the tone. The conviction. The tremor that ran through the rumbled confession. The explanation that was sure to come. Grimmjow didn't seem like he was one for drama.  
  
Ichigo swallowed. Quietly. To himself. If he couldn't be the voice of reason, he was no use to either of them. Nor if he went hysterical. And Grimmjow may have already had that covered.

“Well... it happens to the best of us,” he hedged, voice faltering despite himself, his intention less to brush it off as to ease Grimmjow's obvious misgivings. And his own growing ones.  
  
Grimmjow's fist landed on the arm of his chair.

“No. It's not... It's...” A cornered snarl disappeared almost as quickly as it formed, Grimmjow's head moving side to side in deep internal debate before he stilled completely.  
  
“The battery keeps running out on my flashlight,” he admitted suddenly, voice more firm than it had been a moment ago. More decisive and needing to be heard.  
  
Azure eyes darted away, out past the fire and into the darkness of the desert, before they landed again on Ichigo's. Intense and pinning and serious.  
**  
** “An' I swear I heard whispering a couple 'a times.” Grimmjow's voice, too, dropped to an almost whisper, crackling with a distant but looming hysteria. “An'... an' I keep feeling like...” The eyes that had locked with his were almost pleading. Searching for answers no one had to give. “...something is _with me_ down there. Watchin'.”  
  
Realizing he was gawping, Ichigo snapped his mouth shut. Reminded suddenly how little he knew of his new colleague, he gathered his expression and tried to keep an open mind. Grimmjow hadn't seemed like he was unstable or easily spooked. Although, back at the bar he _had_ been awfully jumpy.

“That's... unsettling,” Ichigo agreed earnestly, understanding how being underground could affect a person. Though he'd never been truly creeped out on a dig. They were just people, just tombs, except for bugs and small creatures, everything inside, long lost or long dead.  
  
Grimmjow snorted.

“Fuckin' tellin' me. But I deal with it, you know. Just ignore it,” he continued, voice gaining strength again. He remained edgy though, cutting Ichigo off with an accusation in narrowed eyes before he could start to suggest the obvious. “I take extra batteries with me.”

Ichigo looked to the fire, giving it a careful moment of thought. He didn't want to come off as brushing off Grimmjow's concerns. He was pretty sure that if Grimmjow had concerns about something, there was probably _something_ to be concerned about.  
  
“Could be an underground stream,” he reasoned. “Some hidden caverns.” He turned to his counterpart, the idea resonating solidly with him, and continued. “The acoustics could...”  
  
He didn't finish. Was it his imagination or did Grimmjow look a touch pale? Regardless, he was shaking his head.

“It's not...” Grimmjow growled seemingly to himself, keeping himself on track. “There's... There's something else...”  
  
There was more? Man, Grimmjow looked like he was about to make a true crimes confession.

“What?” Ichigo twisted as far as he could in his chair, practically sideways and intrigued now beyond self preservation. He loved nothing more than to solve a mystery, bring a story to the surface, share it with the world. In a weird way, it felt a little like being a hero, sharing their story for them, their truth, when they no longer could. That was self aggrandizing though. Ichigo was no hero. He just enjoyed a good quest. And part of that, in this case, it seemed, involved some serious debunking. If nothing, he could help Grimmjow with his obvious unease.  
  
And speaking of which, Ichigo's was growing in spades.

“There's no bugs down the hall that leads to that door. Everywhere else, yes. But there, no. Not one fucking spiderweb. Not one god damn cockroach. Even after I opened it, nothing's ever been in there.”  
  
“Well...” Ichigo started a little dubiously.  
  
“I picked up a cockroach and tossed it into the hallway,” Grimmjow said, eyes cool on him and voice a no nonsense growl. “It ran straight back out.”  
  
Ichigo couldn't control that one eyebrow that shot up. Didn't try, really. He was having sudden doubts about his new friend that seemed well founded.  
  
“Okaaay... Well, that's not really...”  
  
“I did it _five_ times. Fucker even climbed over my damn _foot_ to get outta there.”  
  
Ichigo blinked. Opened his mouth. Then shut it. Grimmjow's voice had taken on a matter-of-fact tone. Gone was the looming hysteria. Replaced by something flatter. Analytical. Resigned.  
  
“Walls are full of glyphs too,” he rumbled, staring unfocused at the spot where the neckline of Ichigo's shirt curved low beneath the hollow of his throat. “Different ones that I can't read. Top to bottom. More than _any_ other room. And sometimes, by the door, there's a breeze, but I can't find a single crack in the walls or the door.”

“You said that hall was on a slope, right? Down a level?” Grimmjow glanced up, and he got a brief nod back. “It _could_ just be the cool air mixing with the warm air from above.”  
  
Grimmjow's head came up. And eyes caught on side by the firelight and lit up like gas-flame, levelled him.  
  
“It's enough to put out my lighter,” he said flatly. “Like someone's _blowin_ ' it out.”

 _Well._ Ichigo's airways, for one, didn't move. He didn't have a reply.  
  
But there it was. Finally, the rest of the story was spilling out. Why Grimmjow had an agitated, shadowy and sleep deprived look about him. The hairs on the back of Ichigo's neck were tingling, even though he was _sure_ there was a good explanation. But Grimmjow was far from done.

“Then a few months ago, right after that door... I started having... vivid dreams. Freaky shit,” he admitted quietly. He cut Ichigo off before he could form a word in response.  
  
“I don't wanna talk about them,” he grunted. “But... I hate it down there. But I can't not go.” Grimmjow's eyes met Ichigo's, searching for understanding. “There's a message in those walls, in the dreams, and it's like... it's like something is tryin' ta scare me away, and at the same time something _wants_ me to find it.”

Ichigo knew that feeling. But as convincing as it all felt, there were no messages from the great beyond speaking to Grimmjow. The intention of the peoples who build it was to leave a message, yes. But Grimmjow's mental manifestation of that into a presence of some kind... Ichigo needed to help him solve these mini-mysteries. Put him at ease. Before he cracked completely. He hardly knew him, but he didn't like seeing him this way at all.  
  
“Maybe... you shouldn't be spending so much time alone in there.”

“Hn.” Grimmjow didn't deny that that might be good advice.

“You _know_ there's nothing paranormal in archaeology, Grimmjow. It's just a building carved out by people, the same as you and me.”

“No.” Grimmjow stabbed through the air with a hard index finger, and into the fleshy back of his own knee. “Every other God damn door in that place... I followed the glyphs and found the latch. This one...” He threw his hands wide in illustration. “The door opened, Ichigo. But I don't know what I did or what I touched.” Grimmjow's baritone was an angry, agitated rush. The sound of one trying to convince himself of what he thought he already knew. “I know I never pulled a fuckin' latch. And I couldn't find _any_ signs of trigger stones in the floor. I fuckin' looked and looked.”  
  
_Oh. Okay then.  
  
_Ichigo sat back, a deep frown carving into his features. His neck hair, arm hair, leg hair... hell, almost anywhere he _had_ hair, it was standing sky high. Grimmjow's campfire story was sending more than a few shivers, like spiders, skittering across Ichigo's skin.

That was indeed some unsettling shit.  
  
“Well, tomorrow,” he nodded decisively, ignoring the sensations, “we'll take a good look around and maybe we'll figure it out.”

“Hn,” Grimmjow responded, tossing his empty beer bottle into the fire in a subdued release of anger.  
  
Even though, Ichigo tried for a comforting look. He was going for normal, grounding them both in reality as much as he could. It was just a mystery to be solved. And they would. Some of it. All of it. Maybe none of it in just one day. But he hoped his presence would at least be enough to give Grimmjow some hope of feeling comfortable in his own dig site again.

**X X X**

They left their chairs and the _pseudo-comfortable_ memory of the fire-light behind them. Grimmjow took care to make sure it was drenched before they went inside. Ichigo stood by, letting the moment have its symbolic bite, watching the hiss and shudder of smoke curling around wet, smothered flames, and listening to the angry spit of heated water leaving a dying thing that _didn't want to die._

It was a solemn reminder that life was a beautiful but passing thing that all at once could be snuffed out. Ichigo appreciated that whenever he could. His was a simple religion.  
  
Grimmjow doused the flames twice. To make sure. Not stopping until the night was dark again.  
  
They retired, and he showed Ichigo to his room. In person this time. There were three bedrooms. The main one was Grimmjow's. One was used as a study. And the other for the occasional guest. In theory, anyway. Grimmjow hadn't had any proper guests since he'd moved here. And if he'd had someone in his bed, which on their way through the house he had vaguely admitted was a slightly less common event than he'd bragged about, they'd stayed in his room.  
  
Ichigo's room felt a little quiet. A forgotten space. Lacking life or the feel of memories. Like a long unused guestroom could. He was unbothered by any of it, really, but even as tired as he was, he lay in bed for a few long, lonely minutes before his eyes finally slid shut.

They opened just as soon as they'd closed.  
  
At least, it felt like it. He didn't even think to look at the clock by the bed as he threw the single sheet back and launched himself barefoot across the room before he rushed down the dark hallway. He knew it'd been at least few hours on instinct. And that the sun was still hours away.  
  
He also knew something was wrong. He'd grown up with two younger sisters, and he was no stranger to the sounds of distress.  
  
He was already inside Grimmjow's room before he put a single thought toward the idea that he was invading his space. Physical or mental. His palm rushed down the wall by the door automatically, mashing the light switch down by chance. Bright white light slammed on as he flew by, not knowing what he was going to see.  
  
He just knew that Grimmjow was panicking. Yelling.  
  
_Terrified_.

And he might know something else about his counterpart now. That he suffered from night terrors.  
  
“Grimmjow,” he shouted as he covered the distance to his bed, caught in the weird mix of being still a bit clumsy and cool from sleep, while riding a protective adrenaline wave across Grimmjow's floor. He hit the edge of the bed, and called out loudly again. “Grimmjow!”  
  
Grimmjow jackknifed up with a loud, desperate inhale. The eyes that flew open, scattering in all directions around the room before briefly finding Ichigo's, were tormented and not understanding. But they'd _met_ his, which meant he was at least semi aware. But Ichigo wasn't falling for it. He didn't need to get punched in the face for being a demon or some weird shit. His sisters had been _villains_ in their sleep sometimes.  
  
He'd quickly grown fond of Grimmjow. And the feeling was unusually strong, of wanting to rush in and grab him by the shoulders, rescue him from the darkness of his nightmare. But his experience made him cautious, made him ready for anything, waiting for Grimmjow's wild eyes to suss him out and find him with real, conscious recognition before he dared to get close enough to be assaulted.  
  
His words were a familiar rush of comforting reassurances. Tried but true. And the safest way to put out a fire.  
  
“Grimmjow, wake up! You were dreaming. Your okay.”  
  
Grimmjow was looking at him, but clearly seeing through him, eyes wide and trapped half-locked onto images Ichigo couldn't see or imagine.  
  
“Grimmjow! It's Ichigo.” Ichigo waved his hands. Snapped his fingers as well. Visual and audible distractions. “You're home,” he promised, half starting to plead for his host's return when he didn't seem to respond. “Nothing's here. You're safe. Nothing's gonna hurt you. Grimmjow?”  
  
Ichigo almost slapped him.  
  
But pupils, that were fixed and blown anatomically _too wide_ for the overhead bedroom light, finally micro-shifted, their focus changing from an unknown distance to Ichigo. And Grimmjow blinked as if the light were too bright as his pupils shrunk visibly down. **  
  
**Ichigo frowned. What the hell had _that_ been?  
  
“Ichigo?” Grimmjow scratched out, his voice shaky and too small. Unsure and wary.  
  
“Yes,” he assured.  
  
At least he knew he was back. Back from wherever in Hell he'd been trapped. Back but unable to trust his senses. Not yet. Ichigo moved forward and half sat, folding one leg in front of himself at the edge of the bed, his other leg over the side and still on the floor. Poised to move away quickly if he had to.  
  
“Is this a dream?” Grimmjow whispered, lip catching in a half snarl. “You're not...” He started to shuffled back, looking around the room wildly. “It's still a dream. Fuck...”  
  
“What? No!” Ichigo said firmly. “Grimmjow, you're awake,” he ducked in front of him, trying to catch Grimmjow's darting eyes, reaching for his arm and squeezing hard, forgetting self preservation, and placing a palm flat against his own chest with an audible thump to show that he was solid.  
  
“It's real. I'm real.”  
  
Sitting up in his bed, thin covers clutched into a whitened fist of crumpled grey cotton against the core of his abdomen,Grimmjow's shoulders were still heaving, his broad, bare chest still expanding wider and faster than it should.  
  
Half here. Half there.  
  
It was Ichigo's touch, his bruising grip that brought Grimmjow rushing back. That was all the invitation he needed. And without hesitation, he was reaching to Ichigo for comfort and a solid, living reality.  
  
Something to cancel out the _void_ he'd endured.  
  
_The place where he'd had everything._  
  
_While being nothing._  
  
“You're real,” he whispered in a low rush, his unsteady hands the physical _form_ of the tremble running through his strained voice, not feeling or sounding like he believed it. Not sounding confident at all. Ichigo frowned in growing concern.  
  
“Yes. I'm - ” Ichigo reached out to cup his shoulder, but Grimmjow reached him _first_. With damn-near the speed of a striking snake. And when he did, there was a brief, surreal flash of _feeling,_ an almost psychic _push_ of _help-me_ or _get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way._ Enough to make Ichigo want to recoil in shock.  
  
But he still _caught_ him, the leg that remained planted against the floor bracing _hard_ against Grimmjow's momentum to keep them both from tumbling over the edge of the bed and onto hard wood below. He _took_ the hot, bone-heavy sag of pressure and the shaking squeeze of clawing fingers against his back, felt the weight of clinging arms around his shoulders.  
  
The weight of someone near their breaking point.  
  
Embraced in a strange and awkward rocking, Ichigo reached out, fingers cradling against the short, clean cut hair of Grimmjow's neck. Without thought, his other hand slid upwards, palm slipping across the bare skin of a broad back, over muscle that was warm and damp, and alive and moving beneath his palm.  
**  
** Ichigo sucked in a controlled breath, trying to keep his _focus_ on being _comforting_ while trying to keep himself from noticing how impressively _good_ his colleague felt. How good he _smelt_. Struggling on top of it all, to ignore the warm, humid breath that was growing hot against his collar bone.  
  
It was a short war. A lost war, when Grimmjow shuddered and buried his mouth against the vulnerable angle of Ichigo's neck, _asking for more_ with a sideways nudge. Seeking fresh reassurance. Fresh contact with the living.  
  
His lips pressed against the pulse of his neck, and Ichigo shut his eyes.

For one more moment, his mind was two sides battling over concern and growing need. But Grimmjow didn't seem to have any doubts at all. He only moved higher, brushing upwards against the long column of Ichigo's neck in a smooth, careful glide, dragging warm lips that grew into half planted kisses along the hard cut of his jaw. Ichigo bit back a strangled grunt as lips became teeth that found the corner of his mouth, Grimmjow's breathy growl, a rush of destructive heat against the crumbling edge of his resolve.

“ _I need...”_ **  
  
**_Ichigo needed to as well._ **  
**  
There were many big bad things in the world to worry about. Sex wasn't one of them. Sex was cathartic.  
  
Without giving it any more thought. Without _wanting_ to, Ichigo set his teeth against his lower lip in tense anticipation, then let his head tilt. The smallest shift. Not enough to give in. Just enough to meet him there.  
  
And then that first brush of dry, soft lips was happening. _Happening_. Something _foretold_ already in progress.  
  
And between that first intimate press and the second, Ichigo filled his lungs with air he needed _badly_. Would need _more_ of. Grimmjow tasted _good_. He opened his mouth and took him by his tongue.  
  
_Good_.

Like rugged sweat and fresh night air, and campfire smoke.  
  
Just beyond it, just beneath it, a kiss of honey. Warm and sweet and organic.  
  
_Orgasmic_. **  
  
**There wasn't a single green or red light in this small husk of a town. But it was all green lights from where Ichigo lay.  
  
“Grimmjow...” he grunted between kisses, no intention of saying anything _other_ than his name. Of _hearing_ himself _say_ it. _Pronouncing_ it. And with it, giving _permission_.  
  
He had only a second to register the lightening strike of a reactive, guttural growl, like Grimmjow's voice, his very control, was falling to pieces. As if everything else about the man wasn't already enough to turn him on. It was the most primitive sound, of hunger and approval and _ownership._ And then Grimmjow was pulling him down, falling back into the deep mess of the half stripped bed, a gravity Ichigo couldn't fight. He was lowered with him by hands that were still shaking from adrenaline. And _more_. Their firm but gentle grip meant to guide, not force.  
  
_Or so they said._  
  
And then he was rolled. _Thrown._ Over and down onto his back in a hard, decisive bounce. And into the _slowing thrum_ of a _dream_. Grimmjow balanced above him. Eyes hooded but sharp now, _focused._ Open mouthed and _panting._ Grimmjow hovered above him, most of his weight resting on a strong forearm. Holding himself that last, smothering inch back with a palm against the sheets. Ichigo could only look up at the pristine cage-fighter body above him, hovering low enough for their stomachs and chests to brush. The touch like flint stones, sparking fire. And close enough to swoop in and steal a long, hungry kiss.  
  
_Greedy, Ichigo thought.  
  
__Good that they were in the same place.  
_  
Ichigo met him with equal pressure (because it was that or be overpowered) and an eager upward, cage-roll of his abdomen that drew a growl from his partner, the sound urging Ichigo on. He panted into their kiss, against his tongue, reaching out with a bold rush of fingers, harsh and raking and _feeling_ their way down the muscled sides of Grimmjow's long, jaguar abdomen. In awe.  
  
His hand crested the curve of Grimmjow's side, descending into the valley of the small of his back with a hard and deep, rolling massage, palms rubbing electricity across the sensitive column of his spine. When he did, Grimmjow grunted in pleasure and _arched_ into him, strong thighs pushing hips and a steel hardness into Ichigo's. Breath dropping out of his lungs, Ichigo thrust up to meet him, eyes screwing hungry-shut, legs bending at the knees and falling slack.  
  
He lost control of a groan, his mind too, mouth wide open like a broken drawbridge to a hot, searching tongue.

Grimmjow's taste. God, his _taste_. And his _scent._ They were every treasure he'd ever found.  
  
Ichigo needed no foreplay. But he did need to ask. And he did so in a breath that was fast, reedy and barely controlled between scooping kisses and what felt like desperate attempts to suck each other inside out. When Ichigo managed a single word, Grimmjow stayed true to everything he'd seemed to be up to now, and answered in a growled, earnest and breathy rush.

“You're...”  
  
“Yeah...”

_Clean._

He wouldn't put Ichigo at risk. No condom then.  
  
At the declaration, Ichigo's dick throbbed, blood and pressure almost too much to bare, the energy between them spiking, and a surge of hunger coursing through every line of Ichigo's body, making him feel like he was caught helpless in the turbulence between ocean cliffs and smashing waves. And he wanted to be.  
  
Grimmjow loomed above him, forcing him down into another hot, deep, hard kiss that had Ichigo gasping like a fish out of water before the bluenet finally pulled back. Ichigo was suddenly left feeling cold as Grimmjow stepped off the bed, hand falling against its edge for balance, still half stumbling on two feet in an urgent ripping-off of loose sweats. Leaving the man breathtakingly naked.  
  
Ichigo sat up, propped on two arms, teeth catching on his lip as he panted. As he watched. Unashamed. Eyes dropping and growing darker with impressed interest at Grimmjow's sculpted and exceptionally naked body.  
  
_Damn_. Ichigo wondered how that textbook musculature was even possible.  
  
He hardly had time to stare. Grimmjow wanted to _fuck_. Needed to release the pressure. And by God that's what they were going to do.  
  
Dick responding enthusiastically to the buffet of hard-earned muscles and a sharp, passionate mind, Ichigo's dick bucked. It didn't need the additional view of the lickably chiselled Adonis lines that deserved only the slowest, hottest, wet drag of his tongue. If he could ever get to it.  
  
Beyond turned on, Ichigo took in the absolute _monument to sex_ at the very core of it all. Ichigo was _more_ than half hard. Grimmjow though, was fully erect. And large.  
  
_Fully. Large._  
  
And _that_.  
  
_That_ was for him.  
  
And he wanted every _inch_ of it.  
  
Ichigo hadn't wanted to spread his legs and _GO_ like this in... _ever_. But shit, his clothes were in the _way_.  
  
With the urgency of a fire drill, he grappled with his t-shirt and stripped it up and over his own long and lean waist and chest, only to stop mid stripping to look through the other side and see _Grimmjow.  
  
A snap shot.  
  
_Watching him with eyes that were hard and crystalline blue. And still as death.  
  
Looking _through_ death. _Past_ it. _  
  
_At _him_. Like a _snack_. A snack that he was going to _devour_.  
  
_Christ_.  
  
Ichigo's blood iced over and boiled away at the same time. The friendly archaeologist he'd come to know so far had become a hungry predator, eyeing him over, seizing up its prey. Planning its finishing move.  
  
There was no question. What was going to happen next was chiselled into stone.  
  
Ichigo was in for a rough, deep _breeding_.  
  
The only sound in the room was the hard catch in Ichigo's throat as he plain gave up on shimmying out of his sweats. He'd only managed to drag them down over his sensitive and now fully _sprung_ dick and partway down his calves. Eyes fixed on hard, hungry azure, Ichigo gave in, falling back in ready anticipation. Offering and waiting. His open body language masking a command and a plea.  
  
There was no hesitation, Grimmjow's eyes flashing as he reclaimed his bed and everything on it.  
  
Claiming his _fuck_. His meal. His kill. Whatever Ichigo was to him right now.  
  
Crawling over Ichigo, closing in one slow hand at a time, with all the low, fight-paralyzing grace of a hunter.  
  
Like Ichigo was _going_ anywhere.

His heart was, though. He expected to be grabbed. Manipulated. The hurricane between them demanded it. But a sudden switch from aggressive want to gentle lover was almost too much to process.  
  
Grimmjow only slid long fingers up his belly. Watching his own hand. Traced the ridges of his abdomen with the blunt tips of earth-worn fingers as if memorizing each divot and ridge, relishing every feature. He leaned in as he finger-traced his way upward, leaning in low, almost kissing him again, their eyes and noses meeting in a brush of heavy eyelashes and the heat of a ghosted touch that had Ichigo gritting his teeth against a frustrated growl.  
  
But he got nothing more than the flick of a tongue and a promise of lips. And then the tumbling sound of a loosely guided wooden drawer as a thick bicep reached past his shoulder to dig around in it.  
  
_Oh_. Ichigo breathed the smallest laugh. _Lube. Right._  
  
Then Grimmjow was gone again, out of lips reach and shuffling back to sprawl on wide, spread knees across Ichigo's legs, naked ass seating itself heavily after yanking the last of Ichigo's pants from their debilitating tangle around his ankles. Ichigo watched the weighty bounce of his heavy cock while he struggled to stay smoothly compliant and submissive.  
  
Grimmjow may have wanted sex to ward off an emotional breakdown in the heat of the moment. But Ichigo might have one now. He needed this. Now.  
  
The pants took a moment. Or a century.  
  
Then finally, _finally_ , they were moving. A large hand found his thigh. Wrapped itself firmly around it without apology, guiding his leg all the way up until his ankle rested on a wide shoulder.  
  
Wanted him _open_.  
  
Spreading his legs and bending into him, erections rubbing, Grimmjow kissed him fiercely.  
  
A last warning.  
  
He wasted _no time_ , the hot, broad head of a hard, demanding shaft pressing like a _commandment_ against Ichigo's tight pucker. Ichigo focused on relaxing himself. Imagining. Knowing it would ache. Knowing it would _hurt_. But remembering how good it _could_ feel.  
  
He focused instead on the tongue working inside his mouth, sucked on it wholeheartedly while Grimmjow's thick length broke him in, prying him wide apart in a slow, painful plunge.

He felt the moment Grimmjow rooted, the heavy press of balls against his ass. With a growl, Ichigo bit down on the lip between his teeth, gentle enough not to draw blood, but hard enough to pull a moan of pain and pleasure. The ragged moan that came after _that_ was _pure_ pleasure. From the helplessly tight and complete _squeeze_ of Ichigo, 360 degrees of pressure around an aching length.  
  
Grimmjow was six inches deep before he'd stilled, finally, the spongy heat of two firm-soft sacs against Ichigo's ass.  
  
Grimmjow's hips twitched. Jerked. A hopeful, rocking push to see if he could get them inside too. A fantasy. To plug him full. Hell.  
  
Ichigo let go a breathy cry with each testing thrust. Giving that _sound_ up for Grimmjow. For the feeling of heavy, hot flesh sliding against him and inside him.  
  
Grimmjow's hips rocked back and forth until Ichigo's passage was warm and stretched and slippery smooth.

And then they fucked.  
  
Oh, how they fucked.  
  
What felt like hours was minutes. Grimmjow plunged into Ichigo's tightness with long, savage strokes, again and again and again, pumping into him until all Ichigo could do was throw his head back and moan, crying out helpless sounds of pain and pleasure, baring his neck to teeth that found his pulse and held on and forced him to stay _submissive_ , to be _quiet and good and open_ while his partner pleasured himself inside of him, driving into his pinned body until they were both gone, over the edge, spasming and spilling seed. Ichigo's making a warm mess across his stomach between them. Grimmjow's spurting in wave after wave. Creamy, hot ropes of seed shooting deep into his bowels.  
  
Head tossed back against the pillow in a mess of crushed orange, fingers clinging to sweaty shoulders, knees spread wide and legs limp in the air, eyes screwed tight, Ichigo spasmed helplessly around the still hard length for long moments. Until Grimmjow finally, gently eased himself out.  
  
Tore them apart.  
  
The emptiness was heavy. A burden. He felt a hollowed out, gaping ache.

It was good that he was tired. Sleep was already coming on, even as he lay there panting beneath a layer of fresh sweat.  
  
He was handed a box of tissues when Grimmjow had taken what he needed. Lying there, Ichigo reached down and cleaned himself up, hiding nothing. Much of Grimmjow still inside him, so deeply had he rooted himself. That was okay.  
  
He half expected to go back to his room. But when he was done, Grimmjow was there, sliding in beside him, catching his cheek with a warm, firm palm and kissing him deeply. But softly and slowly this time in the satisfied embrace of a deep post coital glow.  
  
All of his tension was gone. Dreams and nightmares forgotten. Grimmjow pulled the sheet over them both, letting Ichigo know exactly where he was sleeping, that he had no choice about it, with a heavy arm across his side before they both passed out, bodies moulded together, sweaty skin and all.

  
**X X X**

  
The bed was empty when Ichigo finally blinked against a narrow strip of late morning sun that had found its way through a bend in the blinds. He could tell by the angle of the sunbeam that it was approaching noon. He'd slept in.  
  
Hell.  
  
Memory jogged and he smirked. Grimmjow had literally done him in. He reached out and stretched his back into a deep arch, felt the slight ache in his backside and relished in it.  
  
That had made top three.

Part of him didn't want to admit it, but... fine. Screw it.  
  
Top _one_.  
  
Everything about him had been right. His kiss. His scent. His taste. His moans. And his growls. The way his hands searched and fingers pinched. The way his body rolled and his hips rocked. The rhythm and depth of his thrusts had been everything. Everything Ichigo needed to edge him, building him up into a monster orgasm. Grimmjow too, if the thrown back moan and jerking hips had been anything to go by.

Ichigo let his eyes close and his head fall to the side, feeling almost spent in remembrance alone. Grimmjow's scent clung strong to the sheets they'd both laid on, and Ichigo inhaled deeply on another long morning stretch, filling his lungs with air and all the scents of great sex that still lingered on his skin.  
  
And the smell of coffee and bacon.  
  
Grimmjow had left the door open, a thoughtful way to wake him with offerings of food. Yet another point in his favour.

He sat up. Found his sweats folded on the end of the Grimmjow's side of the bed. Not in the crumple they'd been left in last night. He was racking up points.  
  
He pulled on his shirt, for modesty's sake, stopped to piss away a morning erection that would certainly insight a delay in their travels if Grimmjow saw it, then made his way, barefoot, down the hall towards the sounds and smells of breakfast.  
  
And the gorgeous site of Grimmjow's shirtless back, as he flipped the bacon over, sweats riding illegally low on his hips.  
  
Damn.

“Mornin',” he said, leaning on the door frame. Grimmjow jumped. Yeah, _that_ was back. It wasn't his fault though, that Ichigo just happened to be exceptionally stealthy when he wanted to be.  
  
But he looked good. Better. A bit more rested. Awake and alert.  
  
When Grimmjow turned around, he didn't smile outright. It was all in his eyes. He took Ichigo in right from top to bottom, drinking down every detail, staring at Ichigo like he was a god-damn smoke-show. Ichigo felt himself blush a little under the open scrutiny. The feeling was mutual, of course. But Ichigo was pretty sure Grimmjow didn't even notice he was doing it.

“Hey,” Grimmjow nodded. “Sleep okay?”  
  
“Hm. And then some.” Ichigo shoved off the door frame.

Grimmjow nodded to a chair as he resumed the morning ritual of breakfast. He turned away and moved along from the stove-top, where bacon and eggs were popping and spitting in a fantastic mess, to the counter, where a fresh pot of coffee was waiting to be poured. Grimmjow filled one of the mugs and brought it over, setting set it down in front of Ichigo, who took it agreeably.

“Thanks.” He held it to his nose for a deep inhale, then blew on it, but didn't take a sip. Not yet.  
  
The breakfast continued to cook away in the background. But Grimmjow just hovered awkwardly, long enough for Ichigo to look slowly up at him with a questioning lift of his eyebrows.  
  
“Thanks... for last night,” Grimmjow rumbled.

Ichigo's coffee stayed suspended in the air, inches from his mouth. He blinked twice. He'd never been thanked for sex before. And he wasn't quite sure how to take it. How he _should_ take it.  
  
“You're... welcome?” he said slowly, the rise in his voice edged with humour and a distinct promise of future offence that had Grimmjow blanking out before he suddenly clued in to the potentially disastrous fork in the road that they were heading down. He cleared his throat in something like shock.

“What? No. Not for that.” Grimmjow chuckled, and Ichigo _thought_ he saw a dusting of red on his cheeks.  
  
Ichigo snorted, his smirk amused. And Grimmjow tried again.

“I'm sorry about that.”  
  
That had Ichigo's smirk falling away again. Sorry was not a good word. It was not a word you wanted to hear after having what you thought was mind blowing sex and a profound connection. Eyes cool and an eyebrow flickering upward on its own, Ichigo froze his host with two words.  
  
“Come again?”  
  
Bereft of words for the second time in less than a minute, Grimmjow wondered how many ways he could use the English language to cause misinterpretations. Interpreting things was his goddamn life's work. And of all the inhumanly hot people to lose his _smooth_ around... It was no lie. The sex they'd had last night must have been enough to short out a fuse or two. He didn't doubt it.  
  
When he finally puzzled out his second slip-up under watchful amber eyes, Grimmjow rolled his, while somehow managing to look purely apologetic.  
  
“I mean... I didn't mean for that to happen. Like that.”

“Well...” Ichigo said simply. “You didn't hear me complaining, did you.”

“Complaining.” Grimmjow repeated the word, moved it around his tongue for the taste of it, before a slowly spreading grin widened until teeth were showing. “No.”  
  
Ichigo's amber eyes narrowed. Someone was being a cocky shit. He set the hot coffee mug down on the table, loose between his hands, the ghost of a smirk playing with the corner of his mouth as he tilted his head and drawled a warning.  
  
“I hope you have a _long_ memory.”  
  
Grimmjow stepped back enough to lean on the counter, arms crossed and eyes fixed, _staring_ , accepting the challenge. Ichigo wasn't going to make it as easy a second time. Grimmjow would have to stay the course and earn his way back inside that lithe body. _Fuck_. That was something he wanted again.

He'd just have to be charming then.  
  
“Nah, it's pretty short, though,” he shrugged. “Maybe you can refresh it for me.”  
  
Ichigo looked at him in a smokey, considering way that had Grimmjow suddenly feeling like a baby deer on ice, heart thrumming with a spike of confused interest.

“What I _really_ want... right _now_...” Ichigo said smoothly, voice like silk, taking a small sip of caffeine, and catching a drip of coffee from the side of his mug with the tip of his finger before cleaning it off in a slow, deliberate kiss of lips.  
  
It was enough to make Grimmjow's confidently crossed arms fall slack like lose shoelaces, his eyes flutter wide, and his breath fall out of his lungs through a mostly slack mouth.  
  
“... is _you_...”

Ichigo watched Grimmjow lean forward just a fraction, unconsciously.

“Yeah?” he grunted, voice a squeezed out scratch in his throat.  
  
Ichigo could _hear_ his mouth drying out, even while he was still trying valiantly to school himself in an effort to be nonchalantly charming.

“... _not_ to burn the eggs.”

Grimmjow blinked once.  
  
“Shit!”

He spun around for the stove.

And Ichigo smiled into his coffee. Which was perfect.  
  
The chef may have been a train wreck. But breakfast was delicious.


End file.
